


the daughter of deep silence

by watername



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 11:49:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watername/pseuds/watername
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Susan Bones is a Hufflepuff, through and through. She is hard-working, and she is loyal. And she wants to know who killed her family, when Marcus Flint is her new co-worker. Prompt from rachelleneveu: Susan Bones/Marcus Flint - Debriefing sessions are always the worst part of being an Enforcer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the daughter of deep silence

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the quote from Vittorio Alfiere: "Deep vengeance is the daughter of deep silence."

She grew up with her aunt Mary. Mary Canton, nee Bones, was a woman who put her on her knee and drew constellations on the kitchen ceiling. She was bounced on a knee that was as soft as air and she flew up, small fingers grasping at stars that disappeared into her fingernails. Then, careful, loving hands would pluck her from the sky and give her Chocolate Frogs. She would gnaw on them and wait for the stars to come back, as her aunt smoothed back her hair and whispered spells in her ears.

She has spells in her ears now, but couldn't see the stars through the windows with the smoke issuing from every front. She can hardly see bodies through the smoke and whispers _Diffusus_. There's a man in front of her now, and she swings the mirror hanging crookedly off the wall just enough to see the overhang of his brow.

Her wand twitches in her fingers, and she thinks about how easy it would be. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

She walks into her commanding officer's room and sees a man she's killed in her dreams a hundred times over. He looks over at her and sees nothing more than a schoolmate. Her commanding officer, Ingrid Milstrom, a woman who's lived through two wars and seen cowards turn into heroes, heroes into traitors, and villains into next door neighbors, briskly moves her wand through the air and wraps up the sheath of paperwork strewn across her desk. She slopes words out of her mouth like hard sleet and tells Susan that Marcus Flint, effective ten seconds ago, will be joining her squad on a probationary period.

She wonders briefly to herself if "probation" is bureaucratic speak for baiting the hook for would-be schoolboy Death Eaters, but her commander instead informs her that the department has a gap, and there's been a dearth of applicants. Flint passed the qualifications, but barely, and she's to take him out ( _she wishes_ ) and see how he does.

Flint rises to his feet and thanks the commander for the opportunity, but she's already waving him off, another hundred things to do in a time fit more for twenty, and he turns to her instead. She can see in his eyes nothing but faded recognition. She wonders if he sees her aunt in hers. 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

There's a store in Knockturn Alley, and it's been profiteering off of the bones of the dead, literally. Dark Magic is par for the course, but their sources have told them it's one wizard and a witch who's rumored to have left the country to develop a buyer in eastern Europe. One wizard, and they've worked out the timing to the second.

It, naturally, is fucked as soon as she sends MacGregor in the back. Instead of the small smoke signal to be fluted out a nearby drainage pipe, a wave of pressure hits her square in the shoulder and knocks her off-balance. Flint catches her and she nearly breaks his fingers before bouncing neatly up. She rolls her shoulders back and runs in, deafening her footsteps and Flint's, hearing his clodding steps fade into near nothingness.

MacGregor is knocked out at her feet, and she stifles herself from swearing. With a jerk of the head, she directs Flint to her side and spots him setting up a Shield Charm as she points her wand at her senseless squadmate's head.

" _Ennervate_."

He gasps awake and paws feebly for his wand, already stowed safely in her pocket. She casts her eyes about the room and spots a back closet. Flint is ducking behind a nearby stand, a slash of singed flesh across the back of his wand hand. A jet of magic smashes the lantern above them, scattering glass in her hair.

She casts a charm on MacGregor, a shimmer the only indication, and levitates him gently up. She starts to point her wand towards the closet door only for it to bang open on its own. Flint calls out, "I've got it, go," from behind her, and it's anything but gratitude skittering across her face as she waves her wand and watches MacGregor coast safely into the closet before it closes and latches.

Just as the door closes, black smoke billows towards them and she feels a cold wave upon her. Flint catches her eye just before the cover fully descends, and she thinks she can see trust in his dark eyes.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Explain to me-"

"I can't."

"-why I can't trust someone who's reliably led my personnel on several occasions, at least thrice saved lives, once while endangering herself-"

"I-"

"-to retrieve one wizard-"

"He was retrieved-"

"-without causing extensive damage to several stores, which I personally have to commend you for, given that the target was isolated on every side by ten meters each-"

"He's in custody. _He's alive_. **What more do you want from me?** ". She bites out, wand skimming between her fingers, quivering in her hand. Milstrom's wand is out before she even sees it, and she never hears the _Expelliarmus_ , but her wand is shot out of her grasp and sent sailing over the desk, grabbed, and slammed into the table, shooting pale yellow sparks.

" ** _I want to know why I don't have a team to order, Ms. Bones_**. I have one man in the ward, and another who's been under my command for less than a day, but I feel is already lying to me, and the person I trusted them with is sitting across from me and evading my questions. I trusted you. The wizarding world trusts you, whether they know it or not, so you are under obligation twice-over to stop pretending that you are not accountable for your actions!"

Susan shifts in her seat.

Milstrom breathes deeply through her nostrils and brushes her thumb against the base of Susan's wand.

"I will not have this department become what everyone believes it to be: reckless. Dangerous. Without concern for the common witch or wizard. They are the reason that we are here, Ms. Bones. And I will not allow whatever grievances or grudges my people bear to determine the course of actions."

"He knows who killed my family," she breathes out.

Milstrom looks at her levelly and says, "And I know who killed mine. But I don't storm his office. And I never will." She folds her arms together and leans back in her chair. "You're dismissed. If you come into this office tomorrow without a report that covers everything - every spell and every move that was made in that shop - you will be suspended indefinitely. Now get out."

Her wand flies into her hand and she closes suddenly numb fingers around it.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Marcus Flint is drunk and ridiculously easy to find. She finds him slouched over a glass of firewhiskey at The Toadstone, and flashes a smile to the bartender.

"Sorry about him, I'll take care of it."

"It's alright, miss. There's been worse blokes in here. He your brother?"

Susan used to beg her parents for a little brother.

"Something like that. What does he owe you?"

"A Sickle an' fifteen Knuts."

She fishes in her pocket for the money and puts it down with a brittle smile. "Keep the change."

Flint is heavy, but she puts an arm around his back and guides him out the back door. The alley is clear and she pushes him off of her as soon as the door swings shut, watches him collapse onto the cobblestones and look around with bleary eyes.

"What did you tell her?" she snarls. His eyes are unfocused until she whips out her wand and plants it in the small space between his eyebrows. A tendril of smoke whisps out of the top and a whimper slinks from between his teeth.

"I told her what happened...that you saved MacGregor. That you knocked out the target," he says, voice slurred but understandable. He looks at her like it's her who's been Stupefied. "What happened. I told her the truth."

"No, you didn't, or else I wouldn't be facing unemployment. Now, what did you tell her - exactly."

He swallows thickly and concentrates. "I told her that it went wrong, that MacGregor was hit early. We went in, you revived him, put a shield on him, found a secure location, stowed him away. I provided back-up while you did that. Then the smoke got too thick to see each other...I went in to look for the target. I think you were behind me still. I got hit from the side - there was a second person, maybe the witch never left, I couldn't tell..." he puts a hand to his hip and winces. She can picture the welted scar against pale skin. "I fell. The target came at me from the front, shot a curse at me. I deflected it and it broke the table. You came out and dueled him. I didn't do anything. You won."

He looks up at her, suddenly defiant. "That **is** what happened. I don't lie."

He didn't, and she knows what Milstrom saw. The way she had put her hand on her wand, the look in her eyes. Spells develop over years - evolve, strengthen. She remembers Professor Flitwick sussing out those students drifting off in class, carving words into their desks with dragged-out wands.

 _Prior Incantato_.

She is the author of the mark dug into his hip, inches that could've become a permanent limp that could've become a missing limb, and she steps back and begins to pace.

Flint watches her for a moment and begins to struggle upwards. He swipes his hand across his forehead, and, as she turns to consider him, he runs his tongue against the top of his lip to capture the sweat formed there.

"Who did it?" she asks, quietly.

"What?"

"Who killed them, Marcus?" she crosses the feet between them in seconds. She's shorter than him, can feel his breath, laced with alcohol, press a front against her bangs. "Fifth year. My fifth year. I came back to school with exactly half the family I had a week before, and you," she sucks in her breath and shoots her words like a blowgun, "You know who did it."

"No."

"Don't lie to me."

"I don't-"

"Stop lying to me!" she screams. She forgets her wand, forgets her training, and shoves him with all her strength. He barely steps back. "You were a Death Eater, or you wanted to be, don't tell me you didn't know. You all knew. Poor Susan Bones, her whole family's dead, poor Susan, tell me all about how they died - no one in your House ever needed to ask me because all of you made it happen. _Slytherins_. I bet it was your damn bedtime story."

He shakes his head, slowly, deliberately. His eyes are clear now.

"I don't know. I know they died. We...we were just children."

"Children of Death Eaters."

"Some of us, yes," he admits, "but my mother writes for the Prophet. My father...maybe, look, I don't know what they were doing twenty years ago. I don't care. I don't know who killed them. I don't remember what people said ten years ago. I don't know."

Susan laughs, deep in her throat, hysterically wishing for Veritaserum. She has a Slytherin at her mercy, drunk, cornered, and he's forgetful. She feels a shudder run through her, and it's like being sucked dry. She drops her shoulders and turns around.

It must be nice, she considers, to forget. She leaves him alone in the alley and goes home to write her report. 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It's dropped off at Milstrom's desk at 8:00 AM sharp. Susan walks away before Milstrom extends her hand to pick it up, unwilling to meet her eyes. She goes to her desk and sifts through reports of Dark Magic in Maidenhead.

Flint comes in at 8:30, dark stubble peppering his cheeks. He sits down at his desk as well and grabs a quill. He begins to write, the scratch of the tip grating her ears at every stroke. He finished quickly, though, and puts it away. Milstrom is still sequestered in her office, her door shut tight.

He gets up and walks to her desk. She looks up at him, opening her mouth to tell him to go away, leave the Ministry, leave the country, but it closes when she sees how red his eyes are. He gently places the piece of paper on her desk.

"I said I didn't know last night. I don't. But there are others...I know their parents and I know they talked about what happened to your family." His hand reaches out as if to lay it on her shoulder, but he pulls it back awkwardly. "Names, where they lived, best I can remember. It's up to you."

She gapes at him and Milstrom opens her door and calls out to her from desk, not looking up from the report: "Ms. Bones, a word."

Flint nods at her and retreats back to his workstation. She gets up, shaking, and walks over to the office. Milstrom waves her wand casually and the door swings shut.

"Commander, I have something to say-"

"I think you've said enough," she cuts her off, meeting her eyes for the first time. "I've read your report, and I believe it to be accurate. But it's worrisome. Extremely worrisome, and I had hoped that I had communicated to you yesterday how seriously this action affects this department."

"I understand."

"I don't believe you do. You have admitted to firing a curse at a co-worker, someone under your direction, in the heat of battle. Did you think you wouldn't get caught?"

"I didn't think."

"That I do believe. But I have to wonder if you would have written this report if not for you conversation with Mr. Flint last night."

Susan looks up sharply at that, and Milstrom twists her lips. "Everyone in this department drinks, Ms. Bones, and drunkenness does not affect the ability to hear."

"Vengeance is not the business of this department. You are a talented witch, and have been an asset in many of our pursuits. With the addition of Mr. Flint, however, I am concerned that retaining either one of you will lead to more botched missions and, judging by his admission into St. Mungo's last night, more botched bodies. For that reason-"

She neatly pushes together the edges of the report, aligning and charming them into a sealed envelope.

"-you are to be taken out of the field indefinitely. Last night's mission will be considered a success, technically, but your status has suffered, and your future in this department will be re-considered at an official review in two weeks' time. I would encourage you to look upon this decision gratefully." 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Marcus Flint does not hear from Susan Bones for two weeks.

He also does not hear from five of his classmates, or their families, despite sending repeated owls.

He works quietly at his desk, welcomes MacGregor back cautiously, and works with Milstrom as she takes on extra field work to train him personally. She does not question him about Susan, but he sees her occasionally casting curious glances at him. He wonders if she is an Legilimens, and concludes that, whether she is or not, he is definitely no Occlumens.

Two weeks pass swiftly, and he watches Milstrom and four other official-looking witches and wizards file into her office. Susan Bones follows closely behind them, and he notices a burn beneath her right ear, pink and raw-looking as it disappears behind the collar of her cape.

Behind that door, for the next two hours, voices rise and fall indecipherably. He struggles to concentrate on his report and leaves it for useless when MacGregor walks up and asks if he thinks they'll be getting a replacement for good.

"I don't know," he honestly replies. "Maybe. This is hard work, can't be right for everybody."

"True, but I thought Susan was one of the few." He rubs his hand against his chest. "I'm still not too sure about myself after that last one." 

"Yeah," Marcus watches the door fling open. Susan comes out with her head held high, burn now visible as tracing from her ear down the center of her chest, as though splitting her open. "I'm not sure anymore either."


End file.
